


The Scars Of Broken Promises

by LiaIsInLove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anorexia, Anorexia Nervosa, Anorexic Niall, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Bulimia, Bulimic Niall, But it's about Niall, Cutting, Depressed Niall, Depression, Eating Disorders, Gen, Harry is Niall's older brother, Harry is trying to save Niall, Harry's POV, Harry-centric, Hurt Harry, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Illness, Narry brothers, Niall Has An Eating Disorder, Niall and Harry are brothers, Niall-centric, Rewrite, Sad Harry, Scared Harry, Scars, Self Harm, Self Harm Scars, Self Harming Niall, Self-Harm, Self-Harming Niall, Suicidal Niall, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Worried Harry, self mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 15:36:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5933572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiaIsInLove/pseuds/LiaIsInLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Harry felt like he was falling apart at the seams. He was trying so hard to keep Niall from splintering into a million tiny pieces, that he himself was beginning to crack. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. All he could think about was Niall and how much he needed him to be okay, how much he needed for him to come back.</p><p>Or the one where Niall is breaking and Harry is trying his best to save him.</p><p>PLEASE NOTE: This is a rewrite/alternative version of my work, An Ocean Of Stars</p><p>Massive trigger warnings for eating disorders, depression, suicide, and mental illness. PLEASE DO NOT READ if this may be triggering in any way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scars Of Broken Promises

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [An Ocean Of Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4620255) by [LiaIsInLove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiaIsInLove/pseuds/LiaIsInLove). 



> As mentioned in the summary, this is a rewritten version of my previous work, An Ocean Of Stars, which can be found at: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4620255  
> The overall plot is the same but I did add a lot more detail to this story, and changed certain aspects of it. For example it takes place in an A.U. where Harry is Niall's older brother unlike An Ocean Of Stars, which is a canon-compliant. 
> 
> That being said, the same trigger warnings apply. I'm going to beg you here: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF IT MIGHT TRIGGER YOU!!! I promise, it's just fiction, you're not missing much. Real life is better. I promise.
> 
> If you do read this, please do not think that I am glamorizing eating disorders or mental illness. If you do read on, please do not fool yourselves into thinking that the issues I am discussing are at all romantic. Do not think that mental illness is merely a plot-line to be used to romanticize the suffering of characters and add drama to a plot. Because it is not. It is not something that you wish upon anyone, real or fictitious, and it is not something that you desire to have for 'attention.' Do not read this purely for the angst, and then go comfortably off thinking that this was a good story line. This is not beautiful, this is not fantasy, and this is not simply a plot-line. This is about real diseases that steal millions of lives every year. 
> 
> Alright, more notes at the end. But seriously. Please do not read if you are not in a safe place.

Harry was sick to his stomach. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. It was the same thing, every night. He would wrestle with Niall for nearly two hours, begging him to eat dinner. And Niall would always refuse to eat, screaming hysterically at Harry for being a control freak who only wanted to make him fatter than he already was. After Niall screamed and sobbed himself hoarse, he would finally give in to Harry’s pleading and eat a few minuscule bites of whatever vegetable they had been fighting over for the past few hours. Harry would then have to physically restrain Niall from regurgitating whatever tiny amount of food he had eaten. After an hour of forcing Niall to sit with him and watch some meaningless show on the telly, during which Niall would do everything from sobbing to fighting tooth and nail to escape Harry’s arms, Harry would relent. Niall would then dart off to his room, slamming the door in Harry’s face. But it didn’t end there.

Harry would sink to the ground in exhaustion, with his back pressed against Niall’s door, hoping against hopes that Niall would unlock it, for over an hour. But Niall never would. And Harry would instead be forced to listen to the faint spluttering and choking of Niall making himself vomit in the adjoining bathroom. Harry would sit there, with his knees curled up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around them in a pitiful attempt to keep himself from falling apart, hot tears pouring down his face as he listened to Niall sobbing himself to sleep.

When Harry was sure that Niall was asleep, he would heave his body up from the floor and trudge downstairs to clean up the mess they’d left in the kitchen. After packing another untouched meal into the crammed fridge, Harry would drag himself up the stairs and back to Niall’s door so that he could listen for the faint sounds of Niall’s shallow breathing, and assure himself that Niall was still alive. Harry could never actually hear Niall’s breathing, but telling himself that he could was the only thing that got him through the nights, so he kept pretending. He would then use every ounce of energy left in him to traipse to his own room. There, he would collapse face first on the unmade bed, utterly exhausted.

But sleep would never bless Harry with blissful unknowing. Instead, Harry would lie awake for hours, shackled to the chains of brutal reality, his mind churning, his heart racing, and his stomach filled with dread at the thought of what state he would find Niall in come morning. It had been the same pattern every night for almost a month now.

And so here he was, once again, lying awake beneath the musty sheets that he couldn’t even remember when he last washed, praying for sleep to take mercy on him and free him from life’s iron clutches for a few hours. But his prayers were unanswered.

It all started about a year ago when Niall first began acting differently. It wasn’t even a big change at first, at least not then. It was just that Niall had been quieter, often lost in his own thoughts, distancing himself from his friends and his brother. And maybe his smile didn’t always reach his eyes, and sometimes his laugh sounded fake, but for the most part, he was still the same little brother that Harry had loved with all of his heart ever since the day their mother had placed his tiny body into his arms and told him to keep his baby brother safe and Harry, at seven years old, had vowed to protect Niall and never let anything hurt him. And Harry had been keeping that promise ever since the day he had lisped it through two missing front teeth all those years before. But as the months wore on, it progressed and Niall withdrew further and further with each passing day, until it reached the point where his own brother barely recognized him anymore.

However Harry hadn’t realized just how bad it was until the day he had walked in on Niall changing. It was in that moment that he realized just how badly he had broken the promise he had made as a child. It was then that he knew just how badly he had failed Niall.

He had been horrified beyond all belief when he caught sight of the myriad of rough pink and white scars carved into Niall’s once smooth skin. Harry had nearly fainted when his eyes had landed upon the sickeningly deep gashes that were essentially hanging open on Niall’s hips. His heart had stopped beating and it felt like all of the blood had drained from his body. Time had screeched to a shuddering halt as his world had shook violently and begun to fragment, crashing down in great chunks around him.

Harry had stood in the doorway, entirely powerless to stop the cataclysm. While he had watched on in numb shock, Niall had freaked out and shouted at Harry for not knocking first and begged him to mind his own business and leave him alone. But Harry had somehow managed to swallow down his horror, forcing himself forward towards his little brother despite every fiber of his being screaming for him to run away and forget what he had just seen. Tentatively, with the utmost tenderness, he’d touched Niall’s icy skin with shaking hands, tracing a timid finger over the rough ridges and valleys, the scars of his broken promises.

In that moment, Harry knew he had failed Niall and so he made a new promise to the both of them that he would be there for his little brother, that he would stay by his side, that he would save him from the monsters lurking inside his head, that he would heal him. His voice didn’t waver as he had sworn with unfaltering faith that he would help Niall, no matter what. He had stared into Niall’s glistening eyes—eyes that had always burned so dazzlingly blue, Harry had spent his childhood believing that they held a sliver of the sky within them—and watched as they flooded with stormy clouds of unshed tears. He vowed that he would do everything in his power to save Niall.

He didn’t know then that there was nothing he could do. He had been so sure that he could bring the old Niall back.

And Harry had tried, he really did. He had tried to get Niall to stop cutting himself but nothing had worked. At first Harry thought that if he watched Niall closely, and checked his body for scars, that would help. But new cuts kept appearing every time Harry stripped Niall down. He had pleaded with Niall, begged him to stop, tried making deals with him, anything, but Niall had kept on slashing away at his skin.

So Harry had then decided to remove all knives, scissors, razors, and other sharp objects from the house. But that still didn’t stop Niall. After screaming shrilly at Harry for what must have been hours, Niall had snuck out and simply bought more razors that he’d stashed away somewhere in his room and Harry couldn’t for the life of him find where. Whenever Niall left a blade out, Harry would confiscate it and throw it out whilst Niall sobbed and begged him to just leave him alone. But somehow, Niall never seemed to run out. He always had more blades, and more and more scars covered his fragile body with each passing day.

Yet Harry kept trying. He kept trying save Niall. Even as Niall got worse and worse, even as he tried his best to end his life, Harry kept trying. He kept trying. Because somewhere, deep inside him, there was the belief—the desperate hope—that he could find the old Niall somewhere within this terrifying new version of Niall. That he could find and bring back the old Niall who had always loved and lived life to it’s fullest.

But that Niall was gone. He was gone. And he was never coming back. But Harry just couldn’t accept that.

He couldn’t accept that his little brother—the same little brother who used to bounce around singing Justin Bieber songs at the top of his longs, who used to laugh so hard that tears and snot ran down his flushed cheeks, who used to impulsively hug people because he loved them so much and wanted them to know—was gone forever. He couldn’t accept it. Because Niall had always been such a happy kid. He’d always be the one who brightened everyone’s day, and made them forget all about their worries and pains. All throughout his childhood and early teenage years he was a ray of sunshine, loving life and everybody in it. Even when times were hard, even when their dad left, even when money was tight, even when their mother died, leaving Harry, who was barely passed childhood himself, to raise Niall, even when Harry was stricken by waves of overwhelming sadness, even when Harry was tempted to give up, Niall had always remained constant. He had been Harry’s rock, his source of strength, and his reason for getting out of bed in the morning. Niall had always been so happy and so full of life.

But now he was just…Harry didn’t know a word strong enough to describe how broken he was now.

Niall used to smile all of the time. He used to laugh at any and everything. He used to radiate warmth and happiness. But now Niall never smiled. Harry couldn’t even remember the last time he’d heard the laugh he loved so much. And Niall hadn’t gleamed like the sun for so long that Harry was beginning to doubt that he ever had in the first place.

Harry missed Niall so much. It was a deep ache in his chest that throbbed so painfully it felt as though someone was stabbing him with a butchering knife, trying to carve out his heart. And he would give anything to have his brother back. But Harry didn’t know what more he could do. He had tried everything he could think of. But nothing worked. Niall continued to get sucked further and further down into the abyss of the black hole that was smothering him.

And Harry felt like he was falling apart at the seams. He was trying so hard to keep Niall from splintering into a million tiny pieces, that he himself was beginning to crack. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. All he could think about was Niall and how much he needed him to be okay, how much he needed for him to come back.

It had reached the point where Harry was afraid of going to sleep each night because he didn’t know what the next day would bring. He lay awake every night, sick to his stomach, petrified of what he was going to find come morning. Because mornings were bad. Mornings were uncharted waters. Harry didn’t know what state he was going to find Niall in, or—he was too terrified to think—if he’d even find Niall alive anymore.

Some mornings, after Harry finally broke his way into Niall’s room, he’d see Niall’s mutilated body covered in fresh burns and cuts. And no matter how hard Harry searched, he could never find Niall’s blades or lighter. All Harry could do was tend to Niall’s wounds, assessing the damage, gently cleaning the cuts and applying cream to the burns, bandaging them tenderly, assuring Niall that he was beautiful, that he was perfect, that he was going to be okay, that things would get better, that today was going to be different. Harry didn’t know if he was saying it more for Niall or for himself. And he didn’t know if he even believed it anymore.

Other mornings Harry would find Niall passed out on the bathroom floor. On those days, Harry merely picked up his too-small brother and tucked him into bed, curling his lanky body around Niall’s shrunken form as if his arms could keep him safe. Those were the good mornings. Because Harry was able to sleep for a few hours knowing that Niall was safe in his arms.

But there were some mornings that were bad. Really, really bad. There were some mornings where Harry would find Niall choking as he vomited up blood. And other mornings where he’d find him hysterically sobbing, utterly inconsolable. Sometimes Harry would find Niall lying despondently on the floor, staring straight ahead, eyes that once upon a time held the stars inside of them as lifeless and hollow as black ice, tears trickling steadily down his worn face. On those mornings, Niall was incapable of moving or talking, he just lay there, unresponsive, as Harry picked him up and brought him to bed, wrapped him in his arms, and tried in vain to lull him to sleep.

Other mornings Niall would slam the door in Harry’s face, all the while screaming about how much he hated him. There were many days where Harry spent hours trying to scrub Niall’s blood from the floor. And some days where Harry would screw up his face in agony as Niall sobbed, begging Harry to just let him die, to just let him kill himself already.

But the worst by far was when Harry had found a partially scrawled suicide note next to Niall’s motionless body. Harry had never been as scared as he was in that moment. He’d never known a fear so great as when he’d stared at the lifeless body curled unnaturally on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor and knew that he was gone for good. And Harry had never felt a relief as immense as when he’d discovered the faint but steady pulse thrumming reassuringly beneath his fingers as he groped wildly for Niall’s scarred wrist; Niall wasn’t dead, he was sleeping, having collapsed into unconsciousness before he could finish either his note or his plan. Harry had clutched Niall’s frail body close to him as he cried and cried until his tears ran dry and he could cry no more.

And Niall was just so tiny, so fragile, so breakable…so broken.

Even though Harry had known Niall was losing weight for months, even though he had known that his brother was frighteningly thin, even though he had seen the signs, never, not even in in his wildest dreams could Harry have even begun to imagine that Niall could ever get so bad.

He was emaciated. He was skeletal. His spine protruded from his back, rising and falling like a chain of jagged mountains, each spiked peak linked by a deep valley. His collarbones jutted out from his shoulders like swords, razor sharp, piercing through Niall’s paper-like skin. His chest was so terrifyingly frail that the harsh bump of every rib was prominent even through the baggy sweatshirts Niall drowned himself in. Niall’s stomach, which was hollowed out and curving inward to form an unfathomably deep crater, physically hurt Harry to look at. Niall’s hipbones were so pronounced they resembled daggers. His elbows, far too big for the sinewy arms to which they were attached, bulged grossly, swollen. His hands were those of an old woman, bony and shriveled, gnarled and purpling from the lack of blood flow. Legs as thin as twigs trembled with the effort of holding up his body.

But what pained Harry the most was the gap: the space between Niall’s thin thighs, so vast an ocean of stars could float there. So vast his knees didn’t brush against each other when he walked. So vast that they created a wind tunnel effect each time the breeze swelled, a howling whistle piercing the air as the wind rushed through the gap.

Niall’s gaunt face no longer resembled the soft rounded youthful one of the joyful child he had once been. Instead it was sad and withered, constructed of rough lines and harsh angles. Pale, bruised skin so thin Harry could see the hints of veins crisscrossing like spider webs beneath it, stretched taught across the outline of his skull. Niall’s cheekbones looked as though they had been dug out with spades. And his eyes…

Harry couldn’t even look into the deadened eyes shrouded in dark bags. He couldn’t stand to see the way they were sunken in, too big for his face, cloaked by deep shadows. He couldn’t stand to see how the blue eyes that he had always loved so dearly—the blue eyes that sparkled like the sea, crystal clear, shimmering and crashing and churning, so free you could practically hear the waves collapsing against the shore, smell the salt breeze, and feel the foam flying into the air—no longer held the stars within them. He couldn’t stand to see the way the life had simply left them.

He looked as though he would snap in half if Harry dared to touch him. He looked as though even the faintest gust of wind would sweep him clean off his feet. He looked as though he was dying. He _was_ dying.

Niall, the only person he had left in the world, his baby brother, who he swore to protect, was dying. And there was nothing Harry could do to stop it. And that killed him inside.

It’s just that Harry was trying so fucking hard. And every day it was the same thing over and over again. And Harry didn’t know how much more of this he could take before either he fell apart or Niall finally succeeded in killing himself.

He just wanted Niall to be happy again. He just wanted Niall to be safe. He just wanted his little brother to come back. He just wanted his little brother back. He just wanted his little brother back.

Harry sobbed into his pillow. It hurt so fucking badly. He loved Niall so much, and to know that Niall was hurting himself, that he wanted to die, that he probably was going to die…It felt like his heart was being ripped in two. He was sick with worry. There was nothing he could do but pray. Pray that he could hold together Niall’s seams and keep him from fracturing into a million jagged pieces. Pray that he had at least one more day with his brother. Pray that maybe today would be the day he could finally save him. Pray that Niall would still be alive when Harry went to check on him in the morning.

After yet another sleepless night, Harry pried himself out of bed and crept back down the hall, utterly terrified of what was awaiting him. “Niall…?” He asked.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Mental illness doesn't affect only the person who is diagnosed with it. It affects everyone. This is my homage to the friends and family of those suffering with mental illness who are trying their best to support and remain strong for their loved ones. To the family and friends of anyone suffering with mental illness, thank you. Thank you for standing by us, loving us, supporting us, and believing in us, even when we don't believe in ourselves. You mean the world to us, and you are the reason that we keep fighting. You will never know how much you mean to us. And even though we are often incapable of expressing it, we love you more than can ever be put into words.
> 
> THERE IS NO SHAME IN ASKING FOR HELP. If you or someone you know is suffering and struggling with an eating disorder, I urge you to please seek the help that you deserve. I promise, you deserve it.
> 
> International Resources:  
> http://www.eatingdisorderhope.com/treatment-for-eating-disorders/international
> 
> U.S. Resources:  
> http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/resource-links  
> http://www.anad.org/eating-disorders-get-help/eating-disorders-support-groups/
> 
> Online Resources:  
> http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/online-eating-disorder-screening  
> http://www.b-eat.co.uk/get-help/about-eating-disorders/information-sheets/
> 
> Please remember to be kind to yourself, patient and compassionate with others, smile, laugh, spend time with people who make you happy, and above all else, remember that "kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see."
> 
> Do not give up. Do not lose faith. Stay strong. Keep fighting. Each and every one of you are worth it. "To the world, you may be just one person, but to one person you may be the world."
> 
> If you ever need someone to talk to, or encourage you, or believe in you, or you just need a friend, I am always here for you. So please don't ever think that you are alone, because you are not. You can find me on tumblr at lia-is-in-love.tumblr.com
> 
> I love you all so much and I hope that each and every one of you find the happiness and peace in life that you deserve.
> 
> Lots of love,  
> -Lia


End file.
